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A MIRACULOUS JOURNEY WITH THOR AND HISSTORY — CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Thor’s homecoming was hailed with the fanfare of a hero. To his chagrin, wherever he went, heads turned to greet him. Even more, radically altered was the public portrait of Hisstory. When spotted with Thor, she prompted a petting spree. Basking in the exceptional limelight, she messaged Thor in telepathy.

Being treated like a puppy is fun. I’m not feared; they no longer run.

Thor sighed. Attention is not fun; why don’t you hiss and make them run?

Why would I do something stupid like that?

To set the clock back to normal.

The blithe boa bobbed her head. Normal? This is normal. Don’t you see?

Here we go on another recital spree.

Adorning Thor, she cocked an eye close to his. The people brought you back through whom?

C’mon, Hisstory. Not again.

Your marvelous mentor me.

As if I needed reminding.

Pop quiz. The unity you feel with life did what?

I’m holding my breath; school me, Ms. Scholar.

Roused them in the garden that supernal night.

Are you happy now?

Hisstory swiftly spiraled Thor in jubilation. Epic oration, wasn’t it?

I started with a sagacious serpent and wound up with a precocious pup.

Would you like me to practice barking?

Thor gave Hisstory a withering glance. Either bark or mentor. You choose.

My tail wagging’s improved, don’t you think?

People pointed, giggling at the reptile’s twirling tail, prompting another round of petting.

I bet you practiced that.

The more the wags, the more the pets. Want to bet on that?

Show-off, scolded Thor amid the cozy congeniality.

Thor’s return coincided with the genesis of election season. Six political parties vied for the votes of the masses. These shiny jewels, strutting immense influence, touted titles of treasure, ruby, emerald, sapphire, amethyst, garnet, and diamond, Their candidates promised improvement, pledged prosperity, and professed shared roots with the commonwealth, claiming to represent the desires of the denizens. Regardless of their boasts, the status quo stayed ever-present.

Glancing at the campaign ads hogging the halls on their way to class, Thor philosophized with his flanking friends, “You think elections will ever make a difference?”

Absent ayes, nays were uniform. Attention swiveled to the scent of chocolate chip cookies wafting from Amiry Kinchell’s room.

“We’ll save you some,” the seniors pledged to junior Kyle as they parted ways. Thor settled comfortably into his chair and took a bite, but choked on a chip when Amiry announced, “The Emeralds have invited us to their governor debate.”

Classmate cheers drowned Thor’s cough. Debates had a reputation for being contentious. Despite peers applauding the prospect of witnessing the fireworks, Amiry spied Thor’s apparent aversion.

“Are you all right, Thor?”

Students quieted, fine-tuning their mental binoculars to optimize Thor’s slim contours. The reticent minor cleared his throat, compelled to speak through his discomfort. “Is this a first?”

“A first what?” queried Amiry.

“Have we received invites to debates in previous elections?”

“Why, no, I don’t believe we have.”

Gravitas varnished Thor’s soft-spoken logic. “So this is a first in our history.”

“Your import of the invite I hadn’t considered, but your deduction is true.”

“Have other classes been invited?”

“No others, just ours.”

The piqued class lens adjusted its magnification to spotlight the teen’s pale countenance. Why did he taste its palpable pressure as tangibly thick upon his tongue? Thor struggled to continue, his sonic chimes peppered with a plea, “It’s an invite, right? We have a choice to attend?”

“You’re free to choose; the field trip is elective, not required.”

Nothing more was mentioned about the debate. Class dipped into a vat of routine, though Thor perched on a propped-up pickle, perturbed until the end. He caught Amiry’s look and lingered behind when students adjourned, except for his protective friends.

“What’s up?” asked Ruslan, wary.

“Not sure,” responded Thor. “Give me a few minutes.”

“We’ll wait outside,” said circumspect Dov.

Upon their exit, Thor addressed Amiry. “You’re fully recovered.”

“Healed in half the time,” she underscored with a smile. “Even the initial tests evinced the rapid restoration.” Her smile faded. “But what did it matter, when faced with your loss? I foresaw it and did nothing…” Tears flowed down her features.

Taking a tissue from her desk, Thor blotted her distress. “You blame yourself for my misfortune, as I blame myself for yours. Neither is true, yet that emotion persists. Shall we be linked in mutual guilt or joy? Let’s agree on the latter.” He clasped her hands in his. She gasped at the flood of peace she felt, while hearing him say, “Gone is our guilt; joy from this day.”

“Agreed,” said Amiry, her serenity turned inquisitive. “What troubles you about this debate? The others are giddy; what makes you glum?”

Thor released their grasp, glib in his shrug. “A feeling I have, struck me odd, kind of like the campaign ads.”

“Oh, those,” Amiry gesticulated. “Unfortunately, we have no option.”

“No option? Why?”

“Though lucrative, they’re mandatory, deemed a public service. Not easy to tolerate what’s rammed down our throat. There are things we fight, things we can’t; for you, we fought so hard to live, it made us young again.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Thor brightened his bearing for Amiry, but departed with mounting unease. Brushing his hand haphazardly along a campaign image emanating from the wall source caused it to tremble. What did his razor-sharp senses detect? He looked askance at the ad’s origin, pocketing his agitated appendage which shortly calmed.

Joining his pals further down the hall, he gave a cookie to Kyle, who grinned, “Mmm, thanks, three’s a jackpot.” He stashed it with the other two, while Thor studied their expectant expressions, not surprised that Ruslan broached the subject on their minds.

“Impressive inquisition your first day back at school. Gonna thrill us with an encore?”

Thor prodded with a flex of his fingers, “Are you game for an encore?”

Ruslan postured with lifted palms, “Are you game for my candor?”

Dov leapfrogged, “Mine, too?”

Kyle piggybacked, “And mine?”

“Let’s go, play ball; give it your best shot, fellas,” challenged Thor.

Ruslan took the lead, batting back, “Why the third degree about the debate invite?”

Thor pitched with careful carriage. “Things don’t happen in a vacuum.”

Ruslan discerned the coy curve ball. “Captive performance. You processed it’s personal?”

Thor hedged his hesitation. He had been annealed in a furnace that concealed the cruel tentacles of his torture by the State, yet pieces poked through that kind amnesia. They were frank, his friends, as he beseeched, but balked the boy paradoxically built on a paradigm of contrasts. Born from bounty, bedecked with benevolence, his comportment of compassion colored him cryptic. It wasn’t just his hand that had trembled. Odious lights oozed through vibrations underpinning the hum of the ads. Perforating the pores of his viscera, they pummeled him in the gut. Why burden his buddies with ascent of dread bedeviling his astute head? “I didn’t say that.”

Catching wind he hit a triple, Ruslan dared a sly steal to the home base of truth, “No, you thought it.”

Crying foul, Dov tagged the slick base slide, “You’re out; he’s not an egomaniac.”

Toughened Ruslan appealed to the umpire. “Safe or out, Thor. You call it.”

“Nothing’s out; all’s safe.” Thor swept his arms open in full support. “Go on, Ruslan; let’s hear it.”

“Attaboy.” Ruslan playfully punched Thor’s shoulder. “An egomaniac, I never said, but paranoid perhaps.”

“You think it excites him to be a target?” contested Dov.

“I think it excites him to be home,” deflected Ruslan in a deft rebuff.

On the bench until now, Kyle stepped up to the plate, whacking a fastball at Dov and Ruslan. “How can you expect a grain of frankness to filter through your ill-formed labels? I wouldn’t express my honest views while you two twist in judgmental tangos.”

Ruslan mastered a swift return. “Look who’s talking, touting preconceived tags!”

Kyle careened in disbelief. “You’re picking on me? Make your case.”

Dov nailed a double. “Easy peasy. Look at the judgments in your biased statement!”

Robed in rouge, Kyle retreated, discounting the play. “Why are we debating a debate anyhow, when all your hits are hypotheticals?” He clenched his fists and boxed the air. “The debate’s about politicians duking it out, not about Thor. Even if it was, invitations are not commands. If Thor feels targeted, he can simply decline to go.”

Ruslan’s bunt sent a chill down their spines. “If it’s personal, it’s not that simple; I doubt declines will matter.” He deferred to Thor. “What’s your take?”

“Good point.” Thor was oddly succinct, distracted from their dialogue debate by a mushrooming intrigue. His mercurial mental thermometer recorded emotional temperatures abnormally hotter. Implications abounded in punctuations of personality. Were his friends as susceptible to the draw of the ads as he? Sitting in the front row of his alerted focus, the weight of their novel impact induced him to take a stab at changing their discourse mid-stream. Indicating the adjacent display compelling him to act, he asked, “Any opinions on these?”

Dov and Ruslan posed bemused, while Kyle eagerly took the bait. “They’re more obnoxious than last election.”

“Quite the contrary for the cash, it’s substantial,” volunteered Ruslan, wondering why he readily replied.

“How do you know?” inquired Dov with a budding interest.

“I asked,” elucidated Ruslan.

“So you asked,” murmured Thor, his elusive mind apace in pondering. His pals puzzled over the subliminal significance as he proceeded, “I did, too. A mandatory cash cow is a double-edged sword.”

“That figures,” piped up Kyle, intent on tracking Thor’s upward gaze. “What do you see?”

“Dust descending from the top, floating through the air. Do you feel it fall on us?”

“No,” chimed Kyle and Dov, noting Thor transfixed on the invisible to them.

“What a delightful detour, from discussing a debate to debating the crime of dastardly dust,” commented Ruslan.

Thor elaborated, “I never saw specks before, so high above.”

“Before what?”

“Before the coma.”

“What about the hospital? You noticed them there?” pressed Dov.

“I did.”

“Then nothing’s new,” concluded Ruslan, nonchalant in his stance.

Thor persisted in poise emphatic. “I compare what’s past to present. This is new.”

“Copy, so what? I’ll give you that, but no big deal. Dwelling on dust is insignificant.”

Carefree Ruslan hit a careless fly ball direct at Thor, who easily fielded it. “I see features in the brightest highlights, details in the darkest shadows; this hall seems transformed.” Thor paused, peering quizzically from the boys to the nearby display. “Speaking of which, why are we inching closer to this obnoxious ad? We’re caged in its imagery now. Look, it’s dancing over us. It wasn’t at the outset. We seem attracted; we should be repelled.”

Ruslan quipped, “What brazen bug bit you today? Your feral mind is flipping over innocuous stones. No way these alien ads are corralling us in light and sound.” He feigned a comical shudder. “Your spellbinding suspicions are giving me goosebumps.”

“Light and sound,” echoed Thor, animated by the reflective repetition. “Good choice of words. Yes, I see; that’s the crux. The light and sound magnetize; like a siren’s call, they lure us.”

“Whatever their influence, we’re stuck with them,” reasoned Dov.

“Maybe them, but not their influence.” Ideas adrift in his effervescent intellect, Thor glided his steady hand along the ad source, deliberate and controlled; this time in command, no trace of a tremble was present.

The adroit motion mesmerized Dov and Kyle. Were they witness to a mysterious experiment? Ruslan remained immune, leaning for emphasis against the wall image where Thor had slid his hand, his expression droll. “Hard to decide what’s more fun, a masterclass on verbiage vivisection or dissection of descending dust? Let’s take a vote.”

Dov vexed a vociferous counter, “Give him a break. He just got back from the hospital. He’s allowed to see things.”

In a fit of laughter, Ruslan rebounded in timbre bold, “See things? Maybe one too many. How daft to indulge his imagination. He trusts us as pals, demands our candor. Let’s help him acclimate, not clamor to pander.”

Thor lay a hand of defense on Ruslan’s shoulder. “Truth resides when positioned with candor; no parachute exists in a prison of pander.”

The ad blurb appeared to blare in the space of the lull that followed. At that moment, Kyle was keen to clinch a home run. “I also see things. We have crept closer.”

Ruslan relaxed into the wall. “You joke.”

“I do? Look at you, Ruslan. Can you deny you’re nuzzling that ad?”

Ruslan immediately recoiled from the wall impression, irked he fell prey to its trap. Thor’s jitters were spreading to them; the topic was gaining traction.

Dov’s eyes roved beyond the boys, scouting the vicinity. Clusters of kids convened in proximity to the pervasive ads, on par with them. “Gaps between groups are absent of ads. Once you observe, it’s obvious. Repetitions are not random; patterns proliferate the corridor,” he declared.

“From diabolical dust to pulsating patterns; how refreshing an arc,” downplayed Ruslan.

Thor’s orbs gleamed. “Who said pulsating?”

Ruslan barreled to clarify, becoming accustomed to Thor’s present pirouette pounce on every word pronounced. “I’m being facetious, not literal.”

“Speaking of literal, you believe what you see and touch, right?” called out Kyle.

Ruslan whirled at the approaching attack, his guard kicked up to buttress him. “What of it?”

Kyle had a hunch he was on a roll. “Do you see patterns or not?”

“I see you’re plagued with paranoia.”

Dov swooped in to strike him out. “I see you’re avoiding an answer.”

Exasperation made a rush at Ruslan, nipping his stride. He stared at the trio in a scintilla of silence, then pivoted and left.

Rubbing his hands together in amusement, Dov chortled, “We got him tongue-tied; that’s a coup.”

“He’s not tongue-tied.” Thor pointed at Ruslan, pacing the hall. “He’s seeing.”

The three watched their fourth, a beleaguered boy who soon returned. No one asked if he saw the patterns; it was evident he had. Not singling out Thor, he addressed the group. “Patterns appear everywhere, not packaged in polarity as good or bad. Why put everything under a microscope of mistrust?” Eyeing Thor briefly, his tenor changed from frivolous to serious. With bases loaded, he readied the bat and smacked the oncoming ball out of the park. “Where are we going with this?”

The ad blurb boomed once more. Shrinking from the claws of light and sound, the youths jumped, now on edge. Thor’s muscular mood had picked up steam. “We’ll figure it out,” he proffered, grazing Ruslan’s arm.

The band of boys embraced the gist of the gentle graze. To disagree without disrespect, they were brothers-in-arms. Where are we going with this? Ruslan had stressed, not the separation of you, but the solidarity of we, riding on its two-lettered steed saluting their fraternity. Straight into the headwinds gusting on the horizon, the fellowship fortress hoisted its banner depicting a pious hand placed upon a rugged arm, a beacon of grace from the past coma kid.

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